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 (nobody)...and 353 guests Last 5 registered Oplandisks nothingstar N_loop yipe foxtrotromeo Browse members... |
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Members 8025Messages 2614081 Today 1 Topics 127542 |
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Love will tear us apart again |
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It's great, though |
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"Love is very very big. So much so I don't need to think so much About it." Deathprod/Matt Burt/"REFERENCE FREQUENCIES"/6:15 |
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Bizare love triangle whas my track for today |
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LOVE = GREAT BAND |
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Ah, the old chestnut Love... |
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yes thought about mention them forever changes and da capo = <3 |
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I love princess Zelda. |
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my understanding and personal concept of love has undergone changes over the past year or so. i used to hold close the notion that you only really love one person, and that's it. but i now know that to be untrue. you can love different people in different ways. sometimes in exactly the same ways. i don't know why i let myself be bound by that law, and i don't know how it came about. trying to draw the line between lust and love is the difficult part |
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now playing some kinda love - velvet underground |
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sup? |
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welcome back, you ugly mofo! |
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hey |
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loaf |
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loaves and fishes |
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R U JESUS? |
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LOL |
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She worked for the local library, at the audio-visual desk on the third floor. I met her there. We shared glances from afar for days before and pretended that we didn’t once we were finally face-to-face, The Hours and High Art in my hands, ready to be checked out. Our fleeting looks lasted only moments of a second in reality, but lasted an eternity in our unspoken want of one another. I’m sure, as in my mind, the image of my eyes peering over the tops of selves filled with old vhs children’s programs was seared in her mind as hers in mine. She looked at my cheap attempt at saying yes, I’m like you, you see the movies I’m checking out, maybe we could watch them together someday on a lazy Sunday afternoon. She mentioned that she disliked The Hours, so I quickly submitted and said, so unconvincing, so horribly false in nature: I liked the book. I wanted to see how bad the movie was. I felt so scared and alarmed; I must’ve appeared absolutely desperate. I was. And she could tell. She looked from underneath her bushy eyebrows in response. She smiled. I was relieved. As it turns out we were both quite desperate. We engaged in such a spurious conversation in which we often retracted conflicting views to ensure that we’d be on the same page with one another every time. If anyone were around to hear the saccharine mush we feeding each other, they’d had thrown up not before yelling to get a room already. Of course we believed every word of our petty get-to-know-each-other chat. Somehow the talk moved about to motorcycles for some reason, of which I quickly let it be know that I’m not too much into them at all. To which she replied that she road to work on one. A chopper she called it. My eyes lit up and I moved closer, attentively listening to her beautiful love of everything motorcycle, and now my love as well. At this point there was no plunge, no attempt at asking each other out on a date or even a slight expressing of sexual interest for one another, and then she asked, after I made such an about-face about motorbike |
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about-face about motorbikes, if I’d I like to go for a ride. She said she’d get off in an hour. I thought hopefully we both would. I had never been on a bike before, but I found as I seated myself behind her that it felt quite natural. She put on a pair of shades. What a stud. Off we went. It was all very much slow-motion and all, hugging her tight, pressing my right cheek against her oh so masculine back, blistering across town at a 90 mph. I began to think. I began to think about how shit my life has been and will always be. I began to think about how disgusting a person I am. That I hurt so much. That I hurt others even more. Yes, I’ve been feasted upon by the callous creatures of the world in my childhood, ripping at my every limb. They still do it today, but this time around, I let them. I let them because it makes me feel ugly like I see myself. I let them because it makes me feel something, even if only pain. Since I was young I thought that I’d grow up alone and in fear no matter the number of people around, no matter the amount of comfort applied. As the years passed and stoicism grew, the fear shallowed, and eventually evaporated altogether. Yes, alone. In fear. Hardly. Like Roy Blatty said about tears in the rain, so were mine in a torrent of rushing air, on a chopper, breaking the speed limit twofold. I thought again. For the moment it is some sort of bliss, isn’t this? I thought. Fuck you Mid West and your hate. Look, fuckers, literally two pussies on a bike. Nothing better, even the middle finger. I grabbed her tighter as we drove off, yes, into the sunset. I could feel her well defined abdomen; I made sure she could feel my well defined chest. It’ll be over in a month or so, but what the fuck, it’s as good or close to love as I’m ever going to get… |
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<3 well defined female chests |
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I love my breast, also. Well, when ever I feel "connected" to them. A lot of the time they are just in the way. Especially when men look at them. |
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I imagine they are generally problematic. I feel really sorry for girls in that regard; being male is physically more convenient. I AM LISTENING TO BRAHMS 2ND PIANO CONCERTO |
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also you have a strange way of describing people. |
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Naw, you guys got that fucking shit between your legs. What the fuck is that all about? My tits, it's like sometimes I hate that they're there and sometimes I don't. Mostly I enjoy them. Is that the one where Bernstein makes his famous opening speech about Gould? I forget. Oh bother, I mention Gould again. What the fuck. Must sleep soon to wake up at least by noon. |
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What do you mean? |
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the 'shit between the legs' is convenient for peeing, and otherwise not bothersome. not always on display like tits. Gould never recorded brahms 2nd, as far as I know. To get an idea of the strangeness, see where you used 'bushy'. totally ruptured the moment. |
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I think I was thinking of Brahms' 1st. You know what I'm talking about. Right? Whatever. But anyway, I think "bushy" was a double-entendre. At least that's my defense. Peace. |
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she loves you and you know that can't be bad. |
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love that one |
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jungle love (o-e-o-e-o) |
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Unless she's stalking you with a large knife. |
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I loved two girls at the same time. It ended up with me falling out with both of them after they refused to lez up. |
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thansk and come-backs |
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